“Anyway, I think the food’s about done. I’ve already set the table, so if you’d like to wander into the living area and have a seat, I’ll bring everything out.”
“Nonsense, I’ll help,” she dismissed. She glanced around for the dogs and couldn’t spot either of them. They were both terribly quiet, so at least they hadn’t killed each other.
“Where are the pooches?” she asked, and Mason cast a disconcerted look down at the floor.
“No idea,” he responded. He went to the doorway and looked into the living room and then chuckled quietly before waving Daisy over to come and see. She hopped off the barstool and tried to squeeze into the doorway next to Mason, and he took hold of her elbow and tucked her against his side so that the top of her head was nestled beneath his armpit. She tried to ignore his heat and his gorgeous scent while looking to where he was pointing. Peaches had claimed Cooper’s huge dog bed. The small dog was sleeping soundly, curled up into a tiny, fluffy ball while poor Cooper sat on the carpet, about six feet away. He was staring at Peaches with his head cocked and his adorable face rumpled into that concerned, baffled expression that only retrievers seemed able to achieve.
“Oh, poor baby. That hardly seems fair, I’ll get my bossy little diva out of there before the situation deteriorates.”
“He won’t hurt her,” Mason whispered, his breath ruffling the hair above her ear. “He’s just trying to figure her out. In the meantime, he’ll let her walk all over him until he knows how to deal with the situation.”
“But it’s his house, and Peaches has just taken over.”
“Women.” Mason chuckled, and she slanted him a glance.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He just grinned and cheekily stole another one of those unexpected kisses from her.
“Grab the wine while I bring out the food.” Still reeling a little from the kiss, Daisy was a little slow on the uptake until he stepped away to put a bottle in her hands and then put his hands on her shoulders to physically turn her until she was facing the kitchen door again.
“Off you go,” he said before swatting her lightly on her butt. She gasped and nearly dropped the bottle in surprise. Another unrepentant grin before he headed for one of the cabinets to remove a few serving bowls.
“Oh my God, that was so good,” Daisy moaned later. “I can’t believe I finished all of it. Between this and all that bread at Chris’s yesterday, I’m never going to fit into that stupid bridesmaid’s dress.”
She stared down at her empty plate in dismay; every last bit of curry sauce had been wiped up with the buttery homemade roti, which had been served as an accompaniment to the saucy lamb vindaloo.
“Glad you enjoyed it.” Mason smiled at her over the rim of his wineglass.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“A woman I dated, Vashti. This is her recipe.”
“Oh?” Daisy tried to keep her voice casual but failed miserably. “How long were you with her?”
“A year or so. She wanted more, and I didn’t have any more to give.” He twirled the wine stem between his thumb and forefinger, a thoughtful look on his face.
“I see.”
“Do you?” he asked, a cynical tilt to his mouth. “Women always say they understand, but they never truly do. So what do you see, Daisy?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
She stared at him for a long while, giving the question the gravity it deserved.
“I see a man who enjoys the company of women but prefers not to get too attached to them. Falling in love makes you vulnerable, and I see a man who doesn’t like having any vulnerabilities. I see a man who’s never really content with what he has, no matter how perfect it seems, and is always searching for something newer or better.”
He drained his glass and put it down on the table carefully.
“All that?” he mused. “From what? Just three days’ acquaintance?”
“Well, we have been on a ‘getting to know you’ intensive crash course.” She forced the flippant words past her dry throat and took a sip of her own wine to ease her hoarseness somewhat.
“I suppose we have. Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?”
“Oh, please don’t.” The words were soft and pleading, and Daisy was ashamed by how unevenly they tumbled from her lips. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Mason.”
“I’m not offended,” he said, emptying the rest of the wine into his glass and draining half of it before continuing on. “Just impressed by your remarkable powers of observation.”
He said he wasn’t offended, yet there was something about the stiffness of his shoulders and the cadence of his voice that told her that her comments had touched a nerve. She cursed the glass of wine that had loosened her tongue and futilely wished her words back.
“I also see a man who has gone out of his way to help a complete stranger save face in front of her family and friends,” she tacked on desperately, and he smiled, a cold, cynical movement of his lips that was a terrible caricature of his usual smile.
“You could argue that my motivations are completely self-serving,” he pointed out.
“I don’t see how they could be. You’re only doing this because you allowed your conscience and guilt to get the better of you.”
“Yeah? Or maybe I’m doing it because I want to fuck you senseless, and this is all a means to that end.”
Daisy gasped, his mocking words slamming against her fragile defenses like boulders. Why would he say something like that? It was heartbreakingly disappointing to discover that he was just like everybody else after all and Daisy was the butt of yet another stupid male joke she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
“That’s not very funny,” she fumed, and he shrugged, hooking an elbow over the back of his chair and leaning back indolently.
“I’ll say not,” he agreed easily. “I’ve been a walking hard-on for days.”
Daisy felt her cheeks heating at his words, and she glared at him, absolutely furious.